“That’s cheating.”
“Not cheating,” he says, that smirk getting wider. “I always fight dirty when there’s something I want.”
His eyes have gone dark and they’re focused entirely on me in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with pool and everything to do with the way I’m bent over this table. The intensity of his gaze makes heat flood through me.
“Well you’re going to lose anyway,” I tell him, my eyes not leaving his. “Might as well move and accept your fate with some dignity.”
“Make me,” he says.
I straighten up slowly, deliberately, letting the pool cue rest against the table. “Oh, is that what you want? For me to make you move?”
He closes the distance between us. His hands find my waist and he turns me, backing me up against the pool table. “That’s exactly what I want.”
And then we’re kissing and everything else just disappears. His hands slide into my hair and mine tear at his shirt and the kiss is desperate, hungry, like we’ve been holding back all day and finally don’t have to anymore. I make a sound against his mouth and he groans in response, pulling me closer, harder, until there’s no space between us at all.
His hands move to my waist, gripping tight, and I grind into him, feeling him stiffen in his jeans. The pool table digs into my back, but I don’t care. All I care about is the way he’s kissing me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters, like he’s been thinking about this as much as I have.
When we finally break apart because we actually need oxygen to survive, both of us breathing hard, his forehead drops to rest against mine. His hands are still on my waist, holding me close, and I can feel his heart racing.
“Lark,” he says, and my name sounds different in his voice.
I look up at him, at the way the firelight catches in his eyes, at the expression on his face that makes my chest feel too full and too tight at the same time.
“I love you,” he says quietly, and the words land like something physical in the space between us. “I know we haven’t actually been together for long, and I know that’s fast, but I don’t care. I love you. I’m in love with you.”
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it everywhere—in my throat, in my fingertips, behind my eyes, in every single nerve ending.
“I love you too,” I say, and the words come out steadier than I feel inside. “I love you so much. I think I have for a while now, I was just too scared to admit it to myself.”
“Scared of what?”
“That this would end. That you’d go back to racing full-time and realize I don’t fit into that world. That I’d be the girl who fell for Jack Midnight and got left behind when real life started again.” I laugh but it sounds shaky even to my own ears. “Take your pick, really. I had a whole list of fears going.”
He makes me look at him properly, his hands framing my face. “I’m not leaving you behind. Ever. We’ll figure out the distance thing with racing. You’ll come to races when you can, I’ll come home when I can. We make it work because I’m not losing this. I’m not losing you.”
“Promise?” It comes out smaller than I intended, more vulnerable.
“Promise,” he says firmly, no hesitation. “You’re stuck with me now, Reyes. Better get used to it.”
He kisses me again and this time it’s different, like he’s sealing that promise into my skin. I kiss him back with everything I have, pouring all the feelings I’ve been too scared to name into it, all the hope and want and love that’s been building for weeks. When we finally pull apart, both of us are smiling like complete idiots.
“So,” I say eventually, trying to catch my breath. “I believe I was about to win that game before you so rudely interrupted with your distraction tactics.”
He laughs. “Game’s over. You win. You always win.”
“Damn right I do,” I say. “Don’t you forget it.”
“Never,” he promises, and then he’s kissing me again and I’m pretty sure we’re done with pool for the night.
His hands slide down to grip under my thighs and he lifts me. I squeal and wrap my legs around his waist, my arms looping around his neck, and he carries me across the room. The fire crackles in the fireplace, and he lowers us both down onto the rug in front of it. The rug is plush and soft beneath my back, and he grabs pillows from the couch, tucking them under my head.
The weight of him pressing against me, all hard muscle and heat, makes me shudder with pleasure. I love him. I love him so much it’s almost overwhelming. A month ago this was supposed to be fake and now he’s everything.
One of his hands cradles my face while the other slides into my hair, and the kiss deepens fast, becomes urgent and demanding. My hands grip his shoulders, then slide up into his hair, pulling him closer. I press against him, wanting more, needing everything.
My sweater is already being pushed up, his hands sliding underneath the fabric. I sit up just enough for him to pull it over my head and toss it somewhere behind us. When he sees I’m not wearing anything underneath, his eyes darken in a way that sends heat straight through me.
“You’re beautiful,” he says. “Been thinking about this all night.”
